


Ballade No.1 in G Minor

by flamingosarepink, mm_nani



Series: windmills of your mind [6]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, I'm calling this the dream fic, M/M, Mentions of Marco's accident, Ne Me Quitte Pas verse, angst ahoy, i dont even know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 01:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13671126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/pseuds/mm_nani
Summary: The type of heaviness he feels is something that comes along with missing something near and dear but haven’t been around for a long time. Similarly, it feels like loss.





	Ballade No.1 in G Minor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mm_nani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/gifts).



> For Nani, I hope you like it.

It starts out the way that it always does. 

Marco is walking on a packed street back home in Dortmund, the fresh Spring air filling his lungs as he breathes in deeply- crisp and still with the last twinge of the Winter long gone with the sun shining bright. The scene is ideal with the low chatter of people going about their daily errands, meeting friends for lunch, laughing at the kind of inside jokes you only have with someone you’re close with. His legs carry him to a destination of nowhere, and strangely enough that is how Marco knows that none of this is real. This is something he’d never be able to do normally given the risk of being spotted and rushed like bees to honey. Yet, he carries on without being noticed; oblivious to the seriousness of the situation that awaits him outside of this dreamworld. 

If he’s honest, it isn’t like he doesn’t know. If he was truly alright, he wouldn’t be here. He would be at home, in his large house alone. It is something that he's gotten used to over time, even if he doesn't like it. Marco supposes that he only has himself to blame. Maybe this is what peace looks like- to be young again and free from the pains of a long career and walking in the city that you’ve loved for years which has done nothing but nurture you. So really, it is somewhat befitting that his mind chose to put him somewhere like this- safe, content and free from any thoughts that he would rather not think about.

But something is missing. Marco feels it in the air and in his heart when he exhales a breath that he finds he has been holding in. Yet, he continues despite the heaviness of it. The type of heaviness he feels is something that comes along with missing something near and dear but haven’t been around for a long time. Similarly, it feels like loss and he feels it like a perpetual, dull ache. 

Somewhere along the way the street changes to something more familiar, something Marco strains to remember. He stops walking, looking around and thinking perhaps that he might have gone astray somewhere along the way. Eventually, he remembers it as the street outside his old flat, the one he used to live in before he moved into a house just a little outside of town. He hasn't been here in ages but he remembers everything about it from the flower shop across the street to his old dinner restaurant of choice. Everything about it is a welcome sight. 

As he glances around to take everything in, there is a shape that moves across the street and catches his attention. Marco doesn’t even know why he looks up initially, but he can only guess it’s the way that the other person walks or the shine from a gold epaulet on a black jacket. Suddenly, he feels an innate sense of knowing exactly who the person is. After all, he couldn't mistake seeing that person. 

He blinks, trying to focus on the form of the person, but he’s already moved somewhat out of view. The feeling of loss and heaviness only grows until he’s managed to cross the street, surprisingly bare of cars. Then it changes to one of hope, one that maybe he’ll catch up. But the person is always a few steps ahead of him, that one gold epaulet always in sight. Marco should have known he’d show up here in a place that up until now has been happy and peaceful. But Marco doesn’t care. Leaving him behind in Dortmund and divorce be damned, he doesn’t care about all of that anymore. Sure, he might have cared before but its drastically different here. All he cares about is having the man he loves in his arms again, back in the home they made together, happy and comfortable and more than in love. 

_I can’t let him get away, I can’t just let him get away without telling him i’m sorry for everything.._ Marco’s steps get quicker and miraculously, he doesn’t run into anyone. “Hey!” He shouts loudly almost out of frustration , not sure if the other man can even hear him. Maybe this dream will end like the one before that, and the one before that, where the other man disappears into the crowd before he can hear the sound of Marco calling after him. But no, Marco can’t let alone won’t let that happen this time. This could be his only chance to make this right, even if it doesn’t _really_ mean anything. “Auba!”

Desperation turns into surprise and then into a breathless feeling he can’t place when they’re finally face to face. Instead of the distance between them growing, it closes until he feels the comfort of those familiar arms around him and the only thing he can think to do is bury his face in the other man’s neck. 

“I couldn’t let you get away.” Marco says with Auba’s hand stroking his hair, and lips at his temple to press a feather light kiss to it. 

“Maybe I was ready to hear you.” Auba’s voice is so matter of fact. 

Marco moves away just slightly, almost withdrawing. “How can you say that? After everything that’s happened?” He frowns, and Auba can feel him getting upset, clasping their hands together as his voice changes. There’s an earnest expression his his eyes as Marco looks back at them, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he feels a lump in his throat. He looks away down at the pavement under his feet.

“Marco, I need you to listen to me, what i’m going to say is very important.” Marco can only guess from the watery feeling of his eyes that he is blinking back tears. Auba’s voice is calm yet serious.

“This is the last time we’ll see each other, at least here. It might take a while, you’re going to be hurting. But you’ll need to be calm. Things will be okay eventually. I promise.” Auba kisses Marco’s knuckles, and his eyes flutter shut as the kiss lingers a little longer than he means it to. Marco looks at him, finding it in himself to smile. 

He can’t really explain what happens next, only that everything hurts. Marco doesn’t open his eyes, but he can hear the incessant beeping of something, and the sound of his sister crying.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a good portion of this fic while listening to Chopin's Ballade No.1 and also the brilliant Violin Concerto in D minor by Sibelius. After the Winter window, it felt somewhat good to write something like this.


End file.
